


Made of Lightning

by InfiniteDirections



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, PWP, Pick your own 1d member, no names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteDirections/pseuds/InfiniteDirections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She could be anyone, but tonight she'd be his.</p><p>Written with no spoken names, so he could be any member of the band.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made of Lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClandestineTy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClandestineTy/gifts).



When he woke up that morning, he thought he’d been in for just another day. Their itinerary was booked, just like the day before, and the day before that. They’d become used to it, hadn't they? Wake up when they tell him, go where they tell him, interviews and performances, sleep when they can get it. He didn't know what would be in store for him, though. He wasn't prepared.

But she knew. Their first few interactions had been random, completely accidental and unplanned. The first time took her by surprise - who ever plans to meet a celebrity sneaking through an airport? He’d been funny and charming and a little bit wild, and honestly, who wouldn't swoon a bit when given that particular smile? The second encounter was a coincidence, crossing paths in a hotel parking garage where she was leaving and he was trying to enter the hotel under disguise. She’d recognized him and he’d been smitten ever since. The third encounter, the last accidental one, had been at a bar and she’d been more sober than she’d let on. He’d been a gentleman, though a drunken one, and she’d made a decision. A few more planned encounters later, she knew one thing - tonight, he would catch her. And he wouldn't know what hit him.

* * *

The party that night, a charity event to help bring music to the underprivileged, was held in the penthouse suite of some rich CEO. He’d been told that he’d met the man and his wife before, but he can’t recall the name to save his life. After the requisite introductions and thanks go around, they are left to their own devices in a flat that resembles a London nightclub. It’s not quite what he’d expected, but he grins at the lads and heads off toward the bar regardless. They follow him, and it’s not until he’s surrounded by his mates, carrying on, that she walks in. He doesn't notice her immediately. Rather, one of the guys points her out across the room, and he’d like to pretend that his stomach didn't just flip violently.

She looks better than he remembers, more vibrant, yet somehow softer. He can’t see much below her chin, the crowd obscuring his view, and he doesn't realize he’s holding his breath as her eyes scan the room. They glance past him, scan over him, and she pretends that she doesn't see him gawking at her, but she’s smiling despite herself. By the time her eyes scan back, though, it’s to see the back of his head and she has to check herself. He just turned away, just like that? This isn't how she pictured it, planned it, but she has to admit to herself that it’s better this way. They can pretend to ignore each other and drag this game out, making the rewards all the sweeter.

It’s over an hour before their paths cross, and despite her planning, it’s coincidence that she’s coming out of the bathroom as he’s heading down the hallway. He narrowly avoids plowing into her, and he does a double-take before realizing it’s her. She smiles coyly and continues down the hallway, not sparing him a second glance, but he knows that smile, remembers it from last time. It’s full of promise, a clear sign that she knows what he’s thinking and where they’re headed. He watches the sway of her jean-clad hips, her hair flowing against her back, and he’s mesmerized by her. He wants to reach out a hand, pull her back to him, but by the time he tries to, she’s halfway down the hall.

He’s about to turn around and be on his way as she turns the corner, but a slight swivel of her head stops him. She glances back and her eyes meet his. The heat of her gaze sweeps over him and he only recognizes the look on her face because it matches his. Before he can say anything, though, she's around the corner and gone.

* * *

The guys can tell he's frustrated, but they know by now that there's nothing they can do at this point to distract him. He moves around the room, not trying anymore to hide the fact that he's been looking for her since their run-in earlier. The guys keep well enough away and he's glad of the fact. He doesn't need them to witness this spectacular crash and burn he's currently experiencing.

He still has that brooding look on his face when she brushes past him, just enough to catch his attention. It's been hard to keep out of his line of sight with the way he's been stalking around the room, but she's managed. And she's about had it. She doesn't want to avoid him anymore.

She angles herself as she's walking past him so that his hand brushes against her hip. She doesn't stop, but glances over her shoulder at him before disappearing behind a tall man with a bad toupee. She can feel him following her and she leads the way towards the group of dancing, writhing bodies. 

He tracks her down in the middle of the crowd. She's slowed, and he takes a moment to appreciate how fit she is. She's not overly made-up, is wearing jeans and a simple shirt, but bloody hell, her heels are doing wonders for her arse - and him. She begins to move further through the crowd, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed by the need to feel her against him. He wants to know how it feels when she moves, bodies pressed together in the middle of this crowd of strangers. In one swift move, he grabs her wrist and pulls her back to him, flush against him. 

Her breath rushes out of her as her body is pressed to his, and she's not sure she can remember how to breathe. She'd dreamed, wondered, fantasized about what this would feel like, but oh, it's so much better. His hands, palms flat on her back, pull her closer, and she can feel the heat through her shirt. It's making her dizzy. He's exuding fire and she finds herself hoping that she won't black out as they begin to sway with the crowd.

She feels soft in all the right places as her hands push over his shoulders to clasp behind his neck. He tries to hold her closer, needing to know what this feels like, impatient to touch her. He can't hear the song that's playing, he's far too distracted, so they sway in their own rhythm. She's moving her hips in a swiveling sort of motion and he can't keep up, can only barely stifle the groan as her hips roll lightly against his.

If this is what the night has in store for him, he has no chance. He'll give her everything.

* * *

They’d only danced one song when the crowd had jostled them, forcing him to let her go. He’d steadied himself quickly, but when he reached out to her again, she had been swallowed by the mass of bodies surrounding him. He’s frustrated at the way they keep falling away from each other and his inability to keep her close to him. They’d had such great conversations over the last few months, why didn't she want to be with him? Lord knows that’s all he wants right now.

She’s drawn to him in a way she can’t explain. The innocent flirting, the joking and games, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles in that adorable way. She doesn't know when it happened, can’t quite pinpoint it, but she thinks she’s in trouble. All she wants is to run across the room, push everyone out of the way so she can be near him, but she can’t. He’s not the same as any of the other guys she’s dated. He’s different in a way that makes her stomach clench, in a way that makes her feel like she’s flying when she’s near him. None of her dating experience seems relevant here, so she feels out of her element. This plan she’s worked out, though, it’s working. Isn't it?

He is back at the bar when he finally catches sight of her again. One of the lads points her out by the door, smiling as she says goodbye to their host. He isn't supposed to leave, but they push him towards the door, already making his excuses. They said he couldn't let her get away that easily, and he'd find a way to repay them, but right now he doesn't have the brainpower to think about anything but catching up to her before she gets away again. She is not going to get away again.

Her quick glance back at him from the elevator has him pushing people out of the way. She tries to hide the smirk on her face, but it doesn't matter, not now. She takes her time getting into the elevator, and she can hear him barreling towards her with all the grace of an elephant on a tightrope.

He skids to a stop in front of her open elevator and their eyes meet. He watches as she reaches down, pressing a button, and the mirror in the back shows the floor she's selected. She's giving him a dark look as the doors close, a look that makes everything in his abdomen tighten. The elevator behind him dings and he's pushing past the people getting off, mashing the button for her floor and praying for the elevator to hurry up already. It's beyond his mental capacity to notice that he's headed to his own floor, no one else should be staying on that floor, but he doesn't notice. His mind is on something else.

When the elevator finally stops, he rushes out, but she's not there. With a glance up and down the hall, he starts off toward his left. She's rounding the corner, he catches a glimpse of her hair, those heels, and he's moving fast. He's not sure where she's going, just follows blindly. He’s distracted by the way her body curves around the corner of the hallway and the way her scent drifts back to him on the air. Just a hint, a lingering scent of perfume he can't place, yet craves. When he turns the corner, though, she's gone. Again.

She's waiting for him round the next corner. He almost flattens her to the ground, but she stops him with a hand to the chest and his breath flies out in a rush. They stand there for a moment, unashamedly staring at each other, but when her fingers curl slightly against his shirt, he snaps. Suddenly, they’re kissing, and her lips are soft and pliable against his. His stomach flips when she's kissing him back, but before he can sink into her, even begin to memorize every second, she's pulling back from him, using the hand against his chest to push herself away from him. She's disappearing around the corner before he can catch his breath.

And now he's furious. 

She's walking a thin line, she knows, but she's hoping he'll prove that the risk is far outweighed by the rewards. She barely heard the rumbling sort of sound from behind her as she's rushing away, trying to get out of his reach before he's capable of moving again.

He's gone mad, he knows, but Bloody Hell she's got it coming. He can see all of the decisions that brought them here, can trace every single step of this night and how they were all designed to bring him to this exact moment: so frustrated that he's going to scream. Before he's aware that he's moving, he's around the corner and after her.

His mouth is open to call out for her, but there's a snarling growl coming from deep in his chest and he doesn't trust himself not to say something stupid right now. Instead, he stalks after her with all the urgency he's felt throughout the night. His hand slips into the pocket of his trousers and he's pulling out the key to his room as he catches up to her. When he's within an arm's length, he wastes no time grabbing her wrist and hauling her off down the hallway. He hears her gasp, but she doesn't try to pull away, and he suspects she's been waiting for this all night. When her hand wraps around his wrist, he knows he's right.

He only stops long enough to slip his key card into the door, but he can feel her breath on his arm and it's making him fumble with the little piece of plastic. It takes him two tries to get the door open, and then they're stumbling through in their combined haste to be behind closed doors.

She opens her mouth, he thinks she's about to say something, but he's impatient. As the door closes, plunging them into almost complete darkness, he pushes her up against the wall behind the door. Rather than letting her speak, he leans forward and reclaims her lips. All he wants in this moment is to taste her again, fully. He worries in the back of his mind that maybe he's being a bit too rough, maybe this is out of character for him, but he thinks she understands.

With her body pressed to the wall by his and his lips finally tugging at hers so insistently, she wonders why she let this drag out so long, why she thought this was a good idea. Maybe it's better because of the time they took to circle each other, but damn, why haven't they been at this all night? She pulls on his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, and he responds by crowding into her, pressing her harder against the wall. His hands tug at her hips, pulling them against his own, and the twitching he feels in his abdomen is a promise of things to come.

She pushes her tongue into his mouth and all conscious thought sweeps out of her head like a wave breaking on the beach. His taste, his smell, the feel of him, all so very male and so very much hers. She feels a whimper in the back of her throat as his tongue slides against hers, and she can’t stop it from escaping. She can feel his stubble rubbing against her cheek as they kiss. It brushes along her chin and maybe another time it would scratch, but tonight, it only adds fuel to her fire. She lets her fingers ascend into his hair and he moans into her mouth, obviously enjoying the feeling of her fingers.

They break for a few labored breaths and his head drops, hanging next to hers as he tries to calm himself. Her fingers continue to trace lightly along his scalp, her hips pressing into his, and he’s only taken three, four deep breaths before he’s turning his head and letting his lips run lightly along her neck. Her reaction is immediate and surprising to them both as her back arches away from the wall and into him. She feels his hands snake into the space between her back and the wall, grabbing at the small of her waist and pulling her closer as his lips part. His mouth opens, his breath hot and moist against her neck, and she’s already going crazy at the feel of it.

He lets his tongue snake along the column of her throat, tasting the skin there and searching for all the places that make her breath stutter. Her body presses into him insistently and his body burns deliciously each time she shifts against him. His fingers tangle in her shirt as they hunt for the bare flesh of her back. When he finds it, he presses his palms flat against her back, pulling her harder, unable to stop himself from grinding into her as his tongue traces a path to her jaw. He can tell he’s found a particularly sensitive spot when she makes a breathless noise by his ear and shivers in his arms.

He’s overwhelmed at the feeling of her skin beneath his fingers and the sounds she’s making in his ear and the way she’s rolling her body into his. He feels dizzy, like he can’t take a proper breath, but he doesn't care. How could he possibly care?

Her hands drop from his head, nails scratching lightly down his neck as she pulls her arms down. She’s enjoying the fabric of his shirt more than perhaps she should in this moment, but the thought flies from her mind when he gently sucks the lobe of her ear into his mouth. His tongue on her is possibly the most alluring, seductive thing she has ever experienced in her life. She feels like a tightly coiled spring, ready to explode. Every time he finds one of those spots, the ones that send a shiver down her spine, it coils tighter. 

When she feels as if she can’t take it any longer, she makes a decision. She’s let him control this, for all of the five minutes they've been in this room, and that’s not how she works, not usually. She resolves to take it back, make him feel as helplessly aroused as she is now. It’s only fair.

His tongue is drawing circles on the other side of her neck when she makes her move. Nudging him out of the way, she pulls her hands down his neck, intent on giving him the same attention she’s received. Her fingers rake down his shirt-clad chest and she feels the muscles of his abdomen clench the lower she gets. She thinks his breathing catches, but she’s too intent on her mission to tell. She can barely see him in the dark, but she can tell his eyes are half closed, his mouth hanging open, and he’s breathing heavily. She gives him a cheeky grin, not caring if he can see her, and aims an open-mouthed kiss to his jaw. She can feel his hot breath against her cheek as he blows it out hard. 

Her mouth drops lower, trailing hot kisses down his neck. He’s not sure if she intuitively knows where all of his most sensitive spots are or if she’s just getting lucky, but dear lord, he’s putty in her hands. The fire in his abdomen has concentrated in his groin. It flares when her kisses become broad licks along the column of his throat. His chest rumbles against her fingers with a groan that he can’t stop and he could swear he feels her lips curve in a smile.

He’s so focused on the feeling of her tongue that he doesn't notice her hands moving lower. He lets his head drop, forehead resting on the wall, and his breath hisses through his clenched teeth when her hands find their way beneath his shirt. She lets her fingers drag across his skin as she grabs his shirt and wrestles it off him, throwing it away before returning her hands to his chest. Her fingers mimic the actions of her tongue, driving him absolutely mad. He can’t think, can’t breathe, can do nothing but focus on her.

She’s got him right where she wants him, she knows. She can feel all of his hitched breaths, the tension in his muscles, the hardening in his pants, but it’s too slow, she needs more, this isn't good enough. She curls her fingers, letting her nails drag across his skin just enough to elicit goosebumps as she simultaneously opens her mouth wide and lightly bites the junction of his neck and shoulder. Her name drops from his lips, strangled from his inability to get in a full breath, and his hands lift her off the floor so that he can press her fully to the wall. She has to grab his shoulders and wrap her legs around his waist for balance.

He’s kissing her again, their tongues battling for dominance in a kiss so passionate that he can feel his pants becoming painfully tight. He pulls back from the wall, carrying her the two steps it takes to the small table in the room. It just happens to be the correct height, allowing him to have his hands free while still having her body pressed to his. He wastes no time in ridding her of her own shirt, acknowledging his own need to feel her skin next to his, to know how it feels.

She sucks his bottom lip into her mouth as her hands explore the planes of his abdomen. He’s not a bulging mess of muscles, but he’s in good shape, and the clenching of his muscles make her core tighten. His hands are back on her arse, squeezing as his tongue pushes insistently into her mouth. She moans against it and shivers, and she’s a whirlwind of arousal wrapped around him. 

She reaches down to the waistband of his jeans, easily popping the button. the zipper falls of its own accord and under different circumstances, she’d laugh at the fact that his pants are so tight, his zipper won’t even stay up. Instead, she grabs the elastic of his boxer-briefs and pulls him towards her, grinding her hips down on his until he groans at the feeling. She feels him twitch and suddenly, she can’t stand the clothing separating them. Her hand dips below the elastic, and his pants are so tight that she can’t push her hand inside, so her fingers brush against the skin she finds there. She allows herself a devilish smirk when one of her fingers brushes against the tip of him. He curses under his breath, his voice deep and raspy and quite possibly the sexiest thing she’s ever heard. She lets her fingers continue to explore, teasing him and testing his control.

His hands find the button on her jeans and he needs to touch her, now. His knuckles brush the soft skin of her stomach and it caves at his touch. He has no problem with the button or the zipper, but her pants are just as tight as his. He doesn't want to hurt her, so when he can’t get where he really wants to be, he wraps his arms around her and lifts her off the table, hands planted firmly on her arse. She’s forced to pull her hand out of his pants to grab his shoulder.

She squeals a bit as she’s lifted into the air, pressed fully against him and dazed at the feeling of his chest beneath hers, muscles rippling as he effortlessly carries her further into the room. She can’t see where they’re going and she’s amazed that he can tell in the dark. He stops walking and she only has a second to guess at what he’s going to do next when he quite literally throws her into the air. She lets out a scream which is cut short when her body bounces off his bed, legs tangling slightly in the sheets piled on it. When she can breathe again, she lets out a giggle that dies in her throat when she sees him. 

It’s dark, but her eyes have adjusted and he’s looming over the bed, staring down at her. She can just barely make out the look on his face. it makes her stomach flip, her chest constrict, and her body feels as if it’s just erupted into flames.

He’s impatient, he knows, has been since this night started, but she looks too damn sexy sprawled out on the bed like that for him to want to take his time. He’s quick about removing her boots and he wastes no time on her pants, grabbing the hems at both ankles and yanking them down in one smooth motion. He pushes his own pants down, eyes diverted from the sight of her lying on the bed in only her undergarments. He’s already barely holding himself together, but the way she giggles, then looks at him like she’s about to devour him is going to break what little control he has left, he knows.

When he’s finished removing his pants, he kneels down onto the bed, lowering his body over hers, and her body thrums at his closeness. She lays back as he comes towards her, tilting her chin up to connect their lips again. She’s sure that he knows what she’d like to do to him right now. His control is impressive and not something she necessarily would like to test in the future, but tonight, all bets are off. Tonight, she gets what she wants.

He’s running a hand up her leg, fingers trailing lazily along her thigh. She holds her breath again as they weave down to her inner thigh, but he just as slowly brings them back up and around to meet the lace of her panties on her outer hip. He slips them beneath the fabric, fingers curling into the flesh of her hip. His tongue pushes into her mouth and she sucks it further into her mouth. His fingers are slipping their way beneath her panties, caressing the skin on their path towards her center. She releases his tongue, removing her mouth from his and pulling lightly on the back of his neck to move his head back, giving her access to his neck. She latches on and gives him one good, hard suck. The tendons pull tight in response and she lets her tongue lave over the spot. She’s wondering whether or not it’s going to leave a mark when his knuckles brush some of the soft skin between her legs. Her back arches off the bed at the touch, nails biting into his back, and she can’t stop her legs from falling apart, hips curving to maintain the contact. 

He lets out a dark chuckle at her desperate response to his touch, a sound that she feels everywhere. His hand closes around the crotch of her panties and pulls them down her legs with one good yank. The fabric slides roughly against her skin in a sinful sort of way, one that might hurt another time, but has her blood rushing right now. He settles himself back down, between her legs, the length of him nestled against her thigh. His other hand is pulling down her bra strap, mouth on her shoulder, and she can’t think straight. 

Her nails scrape down his back, goosebumps marking their path, before slipping beneath his boxers to grab his arse. Somehow, his tongue has managed to find her nipple, flicking over it as she uses her grip as leverage to grind herself against him, seeking friction. She’s a writhing, gasping pile of nerves beneath him. She has no control over her own reactions and no clue how he got her to this point. 

She can feel his cotton-clad erection pressed to her and she rolls her hips, feeling the fabric slide against her clit. He sucks her nipple into his mouth, teeth biting it slightly, and she moans his name into the dark. Her hands grasp the waistband of his boxers, inching them down little by little until she’s freed him. She leaves the boxers around his thighs, impatient to touch him. She wraps one hand around the tip of him, pushing down to the base in one deliberate movement. He gasps against her nipple, the hot air making her nipple tighten further. His hips buck, pushing himself further into her firm grip, eliciting a raspy “Fuck” from his mouth.

Suddenly, he’s grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands away from his erection to press them into the mattress above her head. His head drops to her shoulder and he’s thrusting into her with a grunt of satisfaction. She lets out a delicate whimper at the feeling of being suddenly filled, her walls contracting to adjust to him. She can feel her own arousal, allowing him to slide in effortlessly

“Bloody hell, you’re so wet,” he breathes into her neck, and her walls clench around him, making him curse under his breath. He murmurs her name and he sounds breathless as he pulls out and pushes back into her. Her fingers curl around his and she tilts her hips up, trying to get him in deeper. The movement rubs her clit against the coarse hair on his pelvis, which makes her tense and whimper again. The feeling combined with the sound of her whimper breaks his resolve to take this slow, and his hands squeeze hers as he sets a grueling pace, hips snapping against hers.

The room fills with the sounds of flesh slapping flesh and uneven breathing, whimpers, gasps, and groans. She feels the pressure building with each rough grind of his hips. He releases one of her hands and she immediately digs her nails into his shoulder. His hand hooks behind her knee, pulling her leg up and allowing him to thrust a little bit deeper. Her back arches, breasts pressed to his chest, her head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, and he takes the opportunity to lick up the column of her throat as he rolls his hip against hers. She’s gliding over the first wave of her orgasm before she can fully comprehend it, pleasure shooting out through her body like electric current. 

Her voice fills the room with curses and his name, a song he could listen to on replay for the rest of his life. He’s following her over the edge with four, no five more thrusts. His entire body tenses as he gives a few more shallow thrusts and empties himself deep within her. He can feel the last waves of her orgasm milking him, prolonging his own for a few seconds. He collapses, barely able to roll himself off of her, and they lie on the bed trying to catch their breaths.

He wishes it could have lasted longer. All those months, and he gets ten minutes of mind-blowing sex. He knows what happens next, but he’s too spent to be able to do anything about it. She turns her head to the side, gives him a cheeky grin before lifting herself off the bed. It’s dark, and he wishes he could see her standing at the foot of the bed, could watch her sauntering away from him. She doesn’t stop to pick up her clothing, just disappears into the bathroom.

He can feel his insecurity returning when he’s left to lie by himself, naked on the bed. He’s sticky, their mixed release drying all over him. He can’t comprehend what he’s done, can only lie there and imagine all the ways this is going to backfire on him, all the things he wish he could have done to her.

She returns, a dark silhouette in an even darker room, and her hips sway as she returns to him. Climbing on the bed, she crawls over the top of him, a saucy grin on her face. His eyes narrow at the look, and he feels a twitching in his gut. Bloody Hell.

She lays herself atop him, right leg draped over his left, and there’s suddenly something warm and wet against him. She’s brought a washcloth, and good lord, she’s wiping him down, her hands all over him.

His hand grabs her wrist when the twitching in his gut intensifies, and he’s so bloody tired. Her brow furrows in confusion when he stops her cleaning.

“Give me an hour, love. Then I’m yours,” he murmurs, throwing the wet cloth across the room and pulling her down to his chest. His eyes close, and he falls asleep to the feeling of her fingers idly circling his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated) Birthday, Tori!!
> 
> I couldn't decide which member to write about, so this was specifically written in such a way that he could be any of them. Please let me know what you think! This is the first time I've attempted to write anything like this (no names, no physical descriptions) so I'd love some feedback!!


End file.
